What I did not write about was the all-too-real end-of-life journey of my earliest childhood friend Marisa, who was courageously facing metastatic cancer while I went about my hypothetical journey.

I picked up a canvas with Banksy’s beat up Buddha and wondered what the kids would make of it. So I plunked down 25 pounds and bought it. The first thing I did when I got home was pound a nail into the empty wall…

I’ve been practicing deep listening this week. I find it challenging enough to simply stop what I’m doing and turn around to face my kids when they’re trying to tell me something. In the grocery store, I even noticed that it’s entirely possible to walk in, navigate the aisles, stand in the check out line, swipe my credit card, pick up my bags and leave without ever so much as looking someone in the eye or saying a word. It’s a soul-numbing experience, and I don’t recommend it.

If you can spare 15 minutes, take a look at this beautiful video about the organization founded by my teachers — the Zen Center for Contemplative Care.

Like unexpected money found in last season’s coat pocket, I discovered a scrap of paper in my wallet this morning. It’s a quote I must have torn out of a magazine and tucked away for a rainy day, by Charlotte Joko Beck. On this gray day that’s neither winter nor spring, when my mood seems to match the weather, I’m glad to have found it…

Tonight begins my “Year to Live” journey. Twenty-five of us are assembled in an open loft space in SoHo, sitting on black plastic folding chairs, facing the front of the room.